Sowing Is Not as Difficult as Reaping
by Momosportif
Summary: <html><head></head>Things get testy in the Bebop common room when Spike starts snooping on Faye's allegedly innocent reading material. Luckily, Jet arrives to put his foot down but he might simply be playing into their hands. Slash, implied lemon. Characters are Watanabe's.</html>


a/n: The other half of Momosportif sportingly supplied me with the title. She reports that it's a Goethe quote. In honor of Jet, of course.

Enjoy!

* * *

><p>"That's a new one."<p>

"_Jesus Christ_!" Faye jerked her knees up and her arms in, assuming her reflexive all-purpose defense-against-evil pose with much crinkling of the magazine she'd been enjoying peacefully mere heartbeats ago. After waiting in her protective ball long enough to be sure no one was going to attack her, Faye prudently unfurled, mild hesitation quickly morphing into no-nonsense admonishment. "Jeez, Spike, just because you _can_ sneak up on people like that doesn't mean you _should_."

She stiffly shook out her leisure reading, rouged lips twisted up in a tight knot of indignation but remaining just lax enough to let calmed but still barbed mutterings pass through. "Just because I _can_ use a gun doesn't mean I _should_ use it on you to teach you not to lurk behind a lady." She resumed scanning the page at a much closer range, shoulders hunched to shield its contents from prying eyes. "Just because you _have_ a mouth doesn't mean you _should_ run it at inopportune moments, just because-"

"Just because you can read doesn't mean you should read pornography-"

"_Spike_!" The magazine found itself pressed into its alarmed reader's bosom yet again. Jade eyes alive with anxious disapproval, Faye flashed a quick glance to where Ed was splayed out in her usual spot, seemingly unmoved or unaware of Spike's use of the 'p' word.

All the same, the fiercely glaring bounty huntress dropped her voice to an angry whisper, hissing, "This is _not_ pornography! It's a magazine for _women_." Sure to keep the pages plastered to her chest at all times, she maneuvered the professed literature to clearly display the innocent cover image. "See?" Feeling justified, she reopened to her spot and resumed reading in an even more protectively tight position than before. "Women don't read pornography."

"Well that didn't look like a cookie recipe to me." Spike rounded the couch and flopped down by the arm opposite Faye, acquiring a cigarette for himself casually enough to let his suspicious companion believe he didn't notice her scootch away. "What it looked like to me was a guy and a girl-"

"_Shush_!" The explanatory sentence was cut short by a smack to the face with the reading material in question. Faye bristled defensively, leaning over the unoccupied area of the couch to fix Spike with her unwavering end-of-conversation glare. "That is _not_ the same thing as pornography!" She withdrew to her corner with several purposeful looks in the direction of the Ed-and-Ein heap resting in front of the computer. "Honestly..."

"Well, let me see it then."

The magazine exploded down to her carefully folded legs.

"_No_!"

Spike exhaled a stream of smoke at the ceiling. "Then how can I be sure it's not just soft core po-"

"You can just _trust_ me!"

"But I don't. Especially not now that I know you're a closet pervert."

"A _closet per_- I!- you!- _No_! If anyone here's a closet pervert, it's definitely the guy who creeps up on poor, defenseless damsels trying to engage in some intellectual diversions!"

"More like graphic sexual fantasies."

"Obviously you're too immature to look at it even if I wanted to show you."

"I guess that's fair enough," Spike sat up from his reclining position in order to locate some appropriate vessel for his cigarette ash on the table. "After all, it's true that I've never seen a move like that before. Clearly your taste in positions is much more mature and cultivated than mine is."

"_That's IT_!" Faye slammed down the magazine as she rose to her feet, in all appearances prepared to take their verbal smack down to a physical level.

"Faye-Faye, Faye-Faye! Ding, ding, ding! Right hook, left hook! Get him!"

Spike looked up - Ed had spun around to cheer, chin on the tabletop and fists in the air- down- the force of Faye's ascent had prematurely tapped his ash onto the floor- to his side- danger was written all over the woman's face- and then back to the table, where the magazine had been laid to rest.

The best course of action was apparent and the ex-mobster wasn't one to waste time.

Wrath gave way to worry instantly as Faye, too surprised by the unexpected new development to counterattack, watched Spike snatch the discarded reading material off the table seamlessly. Defeated, Lady Luck sunk to the slick, yellow upholstery and allowed herself a few seconds to sulk before scooting over to monitor her adversary turned co-conspirator's progress through critically squinted eyes.

"That's a new one on me too."

"They're always coming up with new ones, you know. Got to keep it exciting."

"I had no idea." Spike's brows bent seriously as he turned the page.

"Ding, ding, ding! We have a winner!" Ed sprung up, then fell over backwards, ignored by the engrossed readers across the table.

"Yeah, yeah. You have to keep the public informed, of course."

"Is this only in women's magazines? Seems like some powerful information to just be handing out to ladies."

"No, no. They've got it in men's too. Ladies' mags are more trustworthy though- see? They actually get guys to help with the articles. Only guys know what guys want, after all."

"Hm." Spike nodded at the indicated authors' names before flipping back to the previous page, pensively. "Did they test all of these? That just doesn't look..."

"You mean this one? Yeah, no, I have no idea. It doesn't look comfortable for anybody though. But, then again, not everyone's in it for comfort."

"I guess..."

Faye snuck a look up from the page to the cowboy's perturbed expression. Careful to go slow and make no abruptly threatening movements, she slid her hands up behind Spike's, subversively re-commandeering control of the magazine under the guise of pointing out more items of interest. "Yeah, these don't really strike me as your type of thing."

"Hm."

"Except maybe-"

"Really, you two? Really?"

The pair on the couch glanced up to discover a rather incredulous looking Jet standing, arms crossed and back against the wall, in the doorway to the living quarters. It seemed Ed wasn't the only one who'd gone unnoticed. In unison, the addressed duo returned their attention briefly to the open page and then back to Jet's expectant glower.

Spike was the first to speak up. "You think these could be Jet's type of thing?"

"Those ones? No way- you think he's that flexible?"

Faye tilted her head to the right in consideration, as if trying to imagine the stationary man in a different angle.

"Oi, Jet, can you touch your toes?" Spike flicked a hand lazily, outlining the desired direction of motion. But instead of going up or down along with the raised finger, Jet moved forward, taking the steps an aggressive two at a time.

"Boom! A new competitor enters the ring! Pa-pow!"

The cyborg paused on his warpath to quirk a thick brow at what was visible of the jubilant announcer, top half disappearing under the table and bottom half beating the air wildly with excited kicks. He shook his head and stepped over Ed's flailing limbs in order to reach his still thoughtfully analyzing peers.

"What do you think about that first one I looked at? He's definitely go the strength."

'Tch, tch! Not a chance." The sheets of violet hair shimmied as Faye shook her head. "Way too modern."

"Listen- what you want to read is your own business," Jet attempted to make eye contact with his audience but neither the fickle femme fatale nor the still contemplative cowboy seemed interested in listening to this lecture. "But if you're going to look at stuff that's not appropriate for everybody in the common room, you can either keep it to yourself or go do your commentary in the privacy of your bedrooms, understand?"

"Besides, you know how the saying goes," Faye smirked as she brought both palms upward in a shrug, yielding to the evidently incontestable fact that she was about to utter. For the first time in their conversation, Spike looked at this companion, eyebrows lifted in anticipation. "'You can't teach an old dog new tricks'."

The comment was even more volatile than the devious temptress had hoped.

Under four pairs of expectant eyes, every inch of Jet's skin from the neck up became tinged with a light but angry pink. He stood up to his full height, putting distance between himself and his smug attacker, shoulders down and chest expanding as if to lift the pointed words up and out. For a few cinematically silent beats, it seemed as though the ex-cop was going to bite the bullet and go- acknowledging Faye as the victor. But when the tension finely broke, it wasn't in a quick about face of the legs, but a powerful swipe of the cybernetic arm that easily removed the magazine from the shared lax grips.

Naturally long face made even longer by his deep set scowl, Jet held the pages up for this own assessment, wide eyes traveling quickly and sporadically over the questionable illustrations. The stony glare finally came to rest at the corner of the page that had been the object of debate more than once that day.

Whatever thoughts were racing behind the deeply knit brow, they remained unknown to the attending observers. Jet's stern features remained firmly in place. Then, suddenly, he discarded the magazine in Faye's lap with a sharp flick of the metallic wrist, glare evening out as he belatedly fulfilled his fellow crew mates' first expectations and turned to leave from whence he'd come. No one made a sound - not the slightest rustle from under the table, nor the quietest pant from between parted canine teeth. The ring of each steely step echoed with a note of finality.

"'Tricks'." Jet braced his undamaged arm on the circular door frame, revealing just enough of his angular profile to make it clear he was looking straight into the mismatched eyes following his departure with seeming indifference. A decided huff brought him back to the hall. "There's nothing tricky about it..."

"Ding, ding!"

Faye raised her delicate brows over suggestively lidded eyes as she coyly collected her reading and tucked it away. Spike busied himself with his cigarette with a little too much zeal to be believable.

"Total knockout! Swoooosh!"

* * *

><p>Somewhere far away in the recesses of the Bebop, someone was messing around in the kitchen. A searching stretch confirmed who common sense had already suggested as the distant breakfast maker. Thoughts of getting up and following the comforting clangs and clatters to their source were pushed aside at the cool embrace of the underside of Jet's pillow.<p>

"Hm." Shrugging the sheets up his slight frame, Spike successfully cocooned himself in his partner's bed. Until there were some smells to accompany the sounds, it would be best to not waste the lingering body heat from the absent man's side of the cot.

These bleary, pleasant morning musings were cut short by the pneumatic woosh of the door opening. Laying absolutely still, the drowsy cowboy steeled himself for the worst as the familiar click of heels brought the presence closer and closer.

He tightened his grip on the pillow.

"Morning, sunshine," the lightly exhaled greeting felt warm on his shoulder. "Looks like the old dog can do more than touch his toes, hm?" The persistent voice staunchly held quickly retreating sleep at bay. Spike let his lids open to the invading silhouette over the backdrop of soft hall lights. "Anyway, I just wanted to make sure you know that you owe me, bad boy, and you owe me big."

"Mmm." Spike twisted violently, pressing his face into the mattress.

"Feel free to pay," she stood, "by cash," something was set down on the nearby tier of bonsai trees, "or," a few quick clicks carried the sickly sweet, sing-song voice out of his personal space, "cheeeeck!"

Woosh, click-

"Ding, ding, ding!"

Faye froze one foot in the hall, the other still in Jet's room, and cast a puzzled over-the-shoulder stare in the direction from which the noise had unquestionably come.

With an immensely satisfied grin stretched from side to side of his slim jaw, Spike shot up in bed, fists punching the air in a perfect imitation of the one and only Ed. "We have a winner!"


End file.
